Slowly, sharply
by idioticonion
Summary: In the course of an online chat, Barney asks Robin a crucial question. AU from Murtaugh
1. Chapter 1

**Slowly, sharply**

On balance, he's glad he asked her.

And it's true that it was a combination of circumstances that caused his temporary insanity: No sleep and work pressure. In tomorrow's early edition, the headlines scream about Korean weapons testing but that isn't entirely his fault.

Another reason… his family...

He'd do anything for James, but it had been driving him a little crazy all evening. Was Tom mad at him? His brother had just seemed really… sad… it was the tone of James's emails that spooked him. And when Barney gets spooked…

And he screwed up her birthday. Nothing he could say to Scherbatsky would ever make up for that - not getting the stupid courier-boy fired, not even buying up the whole god-damned company. Only a legendary night out could even start to take the edge off and that's what he'd promised Robin.

And so… There had been reasons but not excuses: A powder keg of stress and lack of sleep and worry and Scherbatsky and… BAM… before he knew it, he'd _asked her_.

To be fair, Robin had been prodding him all night. Their birthday celebrations had somehow turned into _getting a late-night flight to LA_ (Robin's idea) and so he'd been online, chatting to her and booking flights and hotels and she'd kept…

…pushing.

And it had been _weird_… His brain was working in fits and starts. His eyes had been fixed on the screen but his hands were balling into fists and she kept…

…pushing.

"Don't freeze me out," she'd begged him. "Tell me _why_ Barney?"

She wouldn't let him back off. She wouldn't let the mask slip back on. She prodded and poked and wouldn't take no for an answer.

So he'd _asked her_. That stupid, secret question that had been burning like a hot wire in his gut for months. The thing he'd suspected _might_ be true but he'd told himself definitely wasn't. _Not her. _She didn't think like that. Everyone else did but not _her_.

"Can I ask you something…?" He'd said. And a half-hour later he still hadn't. Because she'd slipped through the cracks in his armour and hurt him, hurt him, making fun, poking holes and he'd tried so, _so_ hard and she'd never _see_…

"Hypothetically…" He'd faltered, asking his questions inch-by-inch, "A girl like you, a girl as awesome as you… would my- my whoring around- would that be a deal breaker? I mean, to dating…?"

She'd misunderstood. She'd deflected. She'd said that she thought he was great the way he was and that she'd never judge him. "You'd have to ask the girl," she'd said.

"What about you?" He'd pushed her. "Hypothetically?" No wriggle room. No more deflection.

And then she admitted it - the thing he'd always suspected (always dreaded) was true but had convinced himself wasn't.

And it had killed him dead.

So, now he knew the truth: Robin Scherbatsky didn't want to share her man with anyone else.

("Not even one-night-stands?" He'd asked. Pathetic!)

Robin Scherbatsky didn't want to be with someone who would cheat on her.

He'd always suspected that the reason he never stood a chance with Robin, the _reasons_ he never stood a chance with her, were many and varied. That it was something to do with the "friendship zone" (she'd said as much herself).

But this, the truth, it had killed him dead.

Because he knew he couldn't change for her. He knew he was addicted to sex, to _the strange_. He wasn't self-deluded in that respect.

Yet he knew he couldn't bear to hurt her, ever, for any reason.

Even though he loved her, Robin, his Robin, his bro, his best friend…

(she wasn't his, would never be his)

…he could never change.

And he'd freaked and flailed and _failed_ and she'd seen it, seen it, seen right through him and _surely_ she'd seen the truth bleed through.

"Why? Barney tell me what's wrong?"

(I love you) His fingers hovered over the keys, typing and deleting, typing, deleting.

"Just _tell_ me! Don't freeze me out!"

(I love you so much) Deleting.

It had been so much easier to deal with the fall out in the privacy of his own apartment. When the flashpoint came, he'd surged to his feet, picked up a glass vase and slammed it against the wall, watching the shards explode in freakin' slow-mo like a scene from one of those John Woo films she loves so much.

Then he'd rammed his fist into the wall.

The anger dissipated in direct proportion to his pain (so much pain) and… _way to go to bust your knuckles, Stinson..._ he'd had to type one-handed after that.

And now, he has to see her in person.

"We're good, aren't we?" She'd asked, like she was scared she was losing him.

"I care about you," she'd assured him.

So now he has less than an hour before Ranjit's due to pick him up. Then he'll see her in the flesh and he can already feel it, the metal slats curling around his ribcage, the armour sliding back into place and he knows now that one of two things will happen when he sees her face.

The armour will fix, hard steel, impenetrable, and he'll be left broken and bleeding inside with no way out.

Or…

Or just maybe…

She'll reach out and take his hand and something will soften just because she says a word, or she smiles, gently, gently and she'll reach in and save him.

But he knows that's never gonna happen.

She's not his, will never be his.

So, as much as he loves her, he'll settle for bros before he'll lose her completely.


	2. Six Hours

**Six hours**

_This story follows on within the HIMYM role playing community on livejournal. Message me for info. _

They can't sedate him for another six hours, not until the cocktail of drink and drugs is out of his system.

Even he doesn't know what he took.

In the meantime he's stuck on an uncomfortable hospital bed in a horrifically revealing hospital gown and he feels nauseous, shaken and scared.

And worse… he's alone.

This feels like a dream, a nightmare, it feels so wrong. It's not him. It's not Barney Stinson sitting here like a broken doll, waiting to be told if he's wrecked his liver, waiting to be told if they're going to force a psychiatric evaluation on him.

Everyone thinks he tried to kill himself.

He didn't _try_ to kill himself.

Barney Stinson doesn't give up.

When Barney Stinson feels sad he stops being sad and he's…

And that's the problem right there.

He's not awesome. Right now he's not even close to "awe" let alone the "some". He's feeling pretty stupid, feeling like a lame-ass 18 year old kid who stole their Mom's bottle of gin, got wrecked and threw up all over the car.

He's alone and feeling stupid and he's scared. Yeah, he's scared because _this is it_. This is the very end. This is where he's been pushing towards all these years.

The end… with the gravestone and the daisies growing up above you. And the worms. And the cedar wood.

Because the doctors told him, in no uncertain terms, that he should be dead. He's not even "lucky to be alive." He actually should be dead.

And the one person who stuck by him, who was there, at the end, at the very bottom, was Robin.

He can't even think about what he did to Robin.

All those women, all those chicks since Shannon who he's hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt, over and over because his own pain won't go away - he barely registered that hurt.

But Robin…

And Ted and Lily and Marshall, of course, who all freaked out.

But mostly Robin.

He sent her home. He sent her away when all he really wanted was someone, just someone, just _her_…

And before, he was so terrified of showing her how he felt, terrified of losing her as a friend.

Now he's lost her. And he finally understands.

Finally he sees it.

He wants to scream at himself, to cry, to rip the flesh from his own face.

(But any of that would be a sign of madness and condemn him to many more months in this Californian hell hole)

But it's ironic.

Now, after the fact, all he wants to do is kill himself.

But he can't, because he knows something that none of his friends ever understood.

He can never give up.

*--*--*

Four hours later he just feels numb. He's called her and called her and texted her and left her messages until he's got blisters on the tips of his fingers.

Ted's flying in.

And despite his protests, his attempts to convince Ted to stay at home, his best friend is coming for him.

But Robin… she'll never forgive him.

He's so close, so close right now… his eyes wander around the room, thinking about scalpels and knives and how hospitals terrify him and he begins to shut down. He can feel it happening, feel himself losing bits, feel things slipping away.

Everything is pale and washed out and white-washed around him. His arms and legs look so sickly under the fluorescent lights. This isn't sunny California. This isn't where he's supposed to be.

This isn't Barney Stinson.

Something shifts.

His eyes unfocus.

For two hours, he slowly atrophies. His mind takes the holiday that his body should have taken four days ago.

*--*--*

When they come for him it's two a.m.

Nothing good happens after two a.m.

They try to sedate him but they may as well try and sedate a statue. He's unresponsive, frozen.

But they shoot him up, anyway, and eventually each muscle unlocks and his body sags against the hard mattress, boneless and finally at peace.

Well, not peace exactly. Vacant.

Because when they try to wake him up a few hours later, his eyes might open, but there's nobody home.


	3. Heather

**Save Heather Mosby, save the world**

_This is another continuation of the Role Play universe (on livejournal and facebook). Please message me for details and if you want to participate. _

He doesn't sleep.

He drifts, like the tide. Sometimes he's far out, in the cool blue water where it's so peaceful that he can rest. Other times, the waves bring him near the shore, where he can hear familiar voices and feel the warm water against his skin, the sun on his face. When he's in the shallows he fights and struggles but he can't wake up.

He's aware of time passing.

He knows there are hours between each breath because he feels rested, calmer, fogged and stuffed with cotton. He knows it's been ages, ice-ages, since he was in the real world.

Then his veins are on fire.

At first he can't move, he tries to wrench his eyelids open but one eye stays tightly shut, stuck fast, and the pain just makes him weaker. He's disorientated, confused. He doesn't know who or where he is.

Then he sees them.

Two men, dressed in black, standing on either side of the bed. He sees the needle, sees the plunger pulled back and the finger tap at his arm and he feels the sharp prick. Somewhere in the back of his brain, even as the adrenalin kicks him from zero to a hundred percent in less than a second, somewhere he knows what this is.

_Death watch_.

He struggles upright, wondering who they are. FBI? CIA? NSA?

Worse?

One of them pulls out a laptop and places it on his lap…

(the moonlight is all that illuminates them, the disk fat, bright and very visible outside his window)

… and the laptop boots up, the light from the screen hurting his eyes. The screen... these are not government letters, but they flicker balefully - A. L. T. - and his heart races in his chest because whatever was in that syringe, they've given him too much. He's lost a bit of weight recently and he never checked in - R. U. C - and it's hard to focus when he's breathing, thick, fast and hyper - E. L. L.

His thumb slides over the panel, the fish eye lens in the laptop's lid taking a picture of his eye. He's recognised and at once he's in the grid, the cube, the system.

Altrucell. GNB was always just a front.

It takes him a moment to verify, for them to delete him, but before the process has a chance to complete he holds up his hands.

He can't speak, can't open his locked jaw or blink his sandman (warm sand, warm sea) eyes but he knows that he has unfinished business.

_Korea?_ He types.

The men nod.

Focus.

Go.

*--*--*

It takes him less than ten minutes. He flies through the contract with Ms Yu, completing it, sending it to legal, sending a copy to her. He dots the Is, crosses the Ts. He checks and double checks the reports that the others have filed from Vegas, and finally, when the second hand edges dangerously close to midnight, he finds an anomaly.

Heather.

If he'd had all day, heck, if he'd had half an hour, he'd have found Heather first. He wasn't kidding when he told Ted that his sister was in good hands. Webb was the best but Webb had been…

(compromised)

…careless. And Heather was caught up in the middle of it. He switches language on the laptop and sends out an angry, hostile message. He doesn't care who he upsets by this point, if there was going to be a flashpoint, it would have happened on Sunday morning. When the papers reported the nuke tests the danger had already happened.

He's got to get her out because…

(she's Ted's sister)

…she's his responsibility and he (who is he?) doesn't let people down, doesn't abandon them, it's not who he is.

He slumps forward because all the other shit is starting to flood his brain and the clear bright thread of intellect is soured. The two men grab the laptop, none too carefully, and shove him backwards.

"Did he do it?"

"He did."

And he knows what comes next…

(lethal injection)

…because he knows too much and he's a….

(basket case)

…liability, but he doesn't want to die. If there was an ounce of strength left in him he'd…

(scream for James, scream for Ted)

…struggle. But it hurts when the next needle stings him because he doesn't want it, not like this, not like this…

And then he's sinking…

(scream for her…)

*--*--*

The tide washes him inside and out. It's dark now, with a clear sky, a full moon and a sprinkling of stars. It's peaceful here. He's not sure which is the dream: This? Or the two men in dark suits. Good suits. Expensive suits. Matching suits.

Must remember to get the number of their tailor…

This time, he really does sleep.


	4. Horrible

**Horrible**

##Author's note: After finally telling Robin he loves her, Barney is sent to Washington DC by GNB and ends up being shipped out to some unknown location. It just struck me, while thinking about this, how many parallels there were to Dr Horrible - "evil" genius guy gets hurt by girl and is given a chance to move up into the "evil" big time.

##

**A man's gotta do**

"Stinson? Follow me."

There are things that Barney doesn't even notice anymore but somehow he takes everything in, like he's absorbing his environment.

Like the cut of the man's suit, the expensive fabric, the stitching,

Like how he stands, fluidly, expressionless.

Like how there's no passport control, not for people like them, not for the _captains of industry_. Not for _international business men_.

Barney notices, yet he doesn't. Because this is his world - the private jet and the secrecy and the dirty deeds. He feels the something metallic slam shut around his ribcage and he matches the other man's stride. He can do this, because he's done this a thousand times before - practicing everything that James taught him until he's perfected it. Don't fiddle with your tie. Stand up straight. Make eye contact. Smile.

He can't quite manage the smile.

But he follows through anyway, because he's made bad choices - always for good reasons - but the choices… Marshall's right, he's the bad guy. He's one of the (very many) bad guys in this world.

Don't do the crime if you can't do the time.

It wasn't like he didn't suspect what would happen when he'd agreed to go to Washington. And yes, it was futile, pointless, because Marshall had caved anyway. Marshall didn't want the job that he'd fought so hard to keep for his friend.

But he'd tried. It was important to try. When you stopped trying, then you might as well be dead.

He kind-of didn't want to think about that. Because, logically, that was a possibility, one that had terrified James years ago when his brother had been the one that Barney had looked up to.

Suited up and fully awesome.

Now it was lil' brother's turn. And he wasn't afraid to man up.

**My Eyes**

Only moments before (so it feels), his last shred of hope disappeared.

Oh, he knows that Robin is probably still trying to rationalise everything. She'll be reading his message and downright refusing to believe him. Even after he'd cut himself open, cut through wool and fabric and skin and bone and _armour_ and shown her what he really felt.

She's scared. He understands that, because they are so alike. For so long it had been him and her, sneering at the couples, the lame relationships, the mushy and the sappy. Perhaps he shouldn't have used the word _love_. He remembers how he felt when James had done this to him - crossed enemy lines and left him behind.

It had taken him nine months to get here. Nine months of bad choices for good reasons - because he wasn't quite sure himself, because he couldn't do this to her, because she wouldn't believe him.

He can get through this. How bad can it be?

Pretty bad. Because he was hurt and angry for nine whole years after Shannon dumped him. He hadn't felt a minute's relief until he'd fallen for Robin. It had taken falling in love to cure him. How fucking ironic.

Nine years of hurting people. Nine years to craft this - the Barney Stinson persona - the perfect machine to do everything he needed - to wreak revenge on the whole world. All he'd wanted to do was to escape - to lash out - to lose himself in a hedonistic whirlwind of a lifestyle. But now he realises he's just been dicking around. He's been doing this small-time - the games, the women, nibbling at the edges.

Now he's hurting in places that Shannon never even touched. If he'd stayed in New York, he'd be locked in a downward spiral right now - pleading with Robin, begging for her to see him, to believe in him. He'd be tilting at windmills, chasing an imaginary love that doesn't exist.

Now he sees the world for what it really is: The lies people tell themselves just to get through the day, how most people cover up the cracks while inside they were howling in pain. Everybody hurts.

Everybody hurts.

Maybe Robin had felt something for him. But he's doused that flickering flame with the word _love_.

So he grabs on to the one thing he still has left and he holds on to it tightly: Power.

The real power behind AltruCell is in the Far East, he'd always known that. And now he knows where.

**A brand new day**

Everything about his stance says: People of Japan, hang on to your hats and get ready for my awesome. But behind his raybans, beneath the wet shave and the new haircut his mind is racing.

As far as he can work out, the deal is this: There is only one job on offer and there are four of candidates: Him, West, Rayner from Seattle and Johnson from Cincinnati.

Every man for himself? He can do this.

Now is his chance to join the elite. That exclusive club that only the very best could join.

Is _club_ the best word? Fraternity?

Whatever, he's made an art form of slacking off from work. Now he's competing against the best, it's kind-of exhilarating. He's actually enjoying himself.

They're staying in an old single-story, sprawling estate, at some undisclosed location about one hour west of Tokyo. He loves it there. He's always had a thing about Japanese history - the honour of the samurai, the romance, the loyalty, the simplicity of their decisions and their values. He kind of wishes they could dress in traditional costume. He fancies himself as that guy in _Shogun_. Plus, you know… geisha girls.

Weirdly, that's the first time he's thought of sex since he's been here. He wonders if they're pumping something into the AC.

Still, it's brutal here. It's got that samurai vibe - play, win, be the best, without limits. It's… pure.

He's surprised how easy he finds this, how instinctively he plays each game. He's always been a gambler, even before his little _problem_. He's always played the odds. How could he not, with his parentage?

And so, here he is. Brand new day, brand new country - brand new job, hopefully. He's practically guaranteed membership into the fraternity.

Nope, fraternity is a lame word. Too many reminders of college. League? That was it! _League_.

But, the thing is, would Robin care? The girl who's called his job "lame"… Would she finally see how awesome it was to be one of the four guys chosen out of thousands of GNB and AltruCell employees worldwide?

Not that he could ever tell her about this.

He wondered if he'd even be able to tell James.

**Slipping**

He wakes.

For a moment, he thinks he's back in NYC, back in his apartment, because it's dark in the room and he's lying on a bed and the only light is coming through the slatted blind covering the window.

He coughs, because it's dusty.

He's gonna fire his cleaner.

Then he moves, his fingers clench and he feels something hard and cold against his palm. He doesn't need to see it to know it is a gun.

He rolls off the bed and peers out of the window, blinking in the bright sunlight. There's a street outside but all the signs are in Japanese. Tokyo? Where the hell is he?

There's a pad of paper beside the bed. Familiar hotel stationery.

"Last man standing" is written in crude letters. Like someone's who's not used to writing. Like someone who copied the words from a book, like they were drawing a picture.

There's a gunshot and a thump somewhere above him.

Surprisingly, he doesn't panic. He thinks that he might be in shock, if it weren't for the fact that's he's kind of done this before. This isn't the first time he's be threatened over AltruCell, not the first time he's had to kill.

But it's kind of different killing people you've spent an awesome day playing business games with.

Besides, he kind of likes West.

But hey, doesn't the gun shot mean that at least one of them is happy to resort to murder to get this job?

He gulps. He's kind of questioning this whole thing. He crawls over to the door, telling himself that this is just like Laser Tag and that it can't be real. It's just a dream. A fantasy. He got drunk on bad saki, that's all.

There's another gunshot.

He opens the door and scopes the landing. Stairwell, two exits, two doors. He heads up the stairs.

Always take the high ground.

Another gunshot. Jesus, that guy is fast! He's wondering who it is? Who killed who? If both shots were fatal, then he's left with the killer.

That's... not a good thought.

He climbs the stairwell, ascending rapidly, then he searches the top floor, kicking in doors like he's freaking John MacLean.

Then he hears a click behind his left ear. And he gulps, closing his eyes.

Thoughts spin around his mind in that second between realisation and ending - _That he was never a good enough son, brother, uncle. That he was never a good enough friend. That at least he told Robin he loved her before he died. That he'd have given her the world…_

But there's no bang, no pain, no death.

He whips around, holding out his own gun at arm's length, keeping the other man at bay.

He blinks, furiously. All he has to do is squeeze the trigger and he'll get everything, _everything_, so much - money, power, everything.

He doesn't need-

He _does_.

He's the bad guy-

He's _not_.

He raises his arm and shoots at the ceiling.

The bullet ricochets off the lamp and plunges into the other man's body, going right through his heart.

Behind him, Barney hears a slow, steady clapping sound. "Classy, Stinson. A bit showy, maybe, but that was a record."

Barney knows who this is. He recognises the man. He tries not to gape.

"Barney Stinson, welcome to AltruWorld."

**Everything you ever**

Barney stares into the mirror. The most awesome guy he knows stares back.

Luckily, the guy in the mirror is wearing shades. He doesn't think he can look himself in the eye right now.

They gave him the choice of staying in Japan or going back to DC. They _didn't_ give him the choice of flying straight back to New York.

(…he knows he can't get out)

He chose to go back. Not home, but _back_. The bad guys don't look surprised, or upset. They respect him, he's one of them.

(…he knows he doesn't want to be)

Now he's in the urinal, trying to talk himself down, trying to give himself the pep talk - _You wanted this. You chose this. _

(…he knows he didn't)

Would they have killed him if they realised that he only killed West by accident? Definitely! Was this the worst thing he'd ever done? No. He looks down at his watch. Platinum. There's a chip inside. He suspects it's not the only way they have to keep track of him.

He feels sick and elated and crazy and scared and psyched and horrified and… and…

When he fastens his zipper and heads out into the airport terminal, there's a loud squawking noise that almost deafens him. It's a parrot in a cage, a multicoloured parrot, flapping it's wings and creating seven kinds of hell.

Barney begins to laugh, and he finds he can't stop for a full three minutes.

By the time he has composed himself, another man-in-a-suit meets him on the concourse, giving him a nod and shaking his hand. Barney follows that man without question. Outside, he's cool and collected. Outside, he's calculated and cunning. Outside he's the bad guy. And he doesn't feel a thing.

Inside, he's a mess.

But the armour has fused to his skin now and perhaps he's been deluding himself that he could ever take it off.

He feels like he's aged ten years in two days.

On the jet to DC, somewhere over the pacific, the cute flight attendant flirts with him. He doesn't even notice.


	5. Wings

**Wings**

## Author's note: Barney's flying home to NYC, formulating his own personal view of relationships.

##

Sometimes Barney Stinson is a romantic.

He looks at Robin's email, saved on a laptop that's little more than a dumb terminal when taken a mile above the earth, and he reads the words over and over - monogamy, love, _evidence_. He still doesn't know how he should have responded. Why does everyone (even her) chose a cage when they're given wings? Why does everyone want to put themselves in boxes when they could fly so, so high; when they could _soar_?

How high they could fly, he and Robin, if only she'd let him show her how?

She talks of proof that he loves her, when all she's really talking about is sexual jealousy.

Doesn't she realise that there are two choices? Fear or love. When have they ever cared what the rest of the world thought of them?

When she talks about Friends-With-Benefits, she has no idea how much it hurts him. He figures that Ted doesn't either. Because F-W-B implies no romance. No emotional engagement. No depth of commitment.

A commitment doesn't have to mean monogamy to mean _forever_.

There isn't a word to describe what he wants from Scherbatsky. But is that a problem? He's the master at inventing new words, after all.

Just so long as she's his, mind and soul, then she's the only one who gets to say what she does with her body.

Fear or love, Scherbatsky.

But he doesn't believe that she'll ever understand him, no matter how many times he explains it, in how many different ways. He understands this so instinctively. She's trying to be like him when really she's just stuck in the box.

He wishes sometimes (although he'd never admit it, even if they did that North Korean thing of sticking burning hot pieces of wood under his fingernails), he wishes that he was more like Ted. Ted could say sappy stuff and get away with it. Because Ted always sounded so sincere.

Barney just doesn't have the skills.

He looks to James, and all he sees is a failed marriage and a single father who's so messed up that he can't see straight.

He looks to Lily and Marshall and he sees a man who'd leave his wife for a week in Aruba and never tell her.

Just what's so freakin' great about "tradition" anyway?

Fear or love!

Cages or wings!

He chooses wings.

And maybe if Robin can't fly, he's just gonna have to teach her.


	6. Apply some pressure

**Apply some pressure**

_Author's note: Shannon/Barney are reconciled and Shannon/Mary are friends. Shannon has an interesting evening planned for Barney. Warning: VERY smutty.  
_

##

Shannon runs a single finger across his face and lifts his chin. Barney scowls at her until he feels the pressure of her palm against his groin. She begins to fondle him, through his silk boxers, and the sensation is maddening - enough to get him hard but no more.

What's she waiting for?

The answer comes with a knock on the front door of her apartment. His curses follow her out of the bedroom and he's left there, dangling, helpless because she's tied both of his wrists to the headboard.

He shifts around. The knots look tight but, given ten minutes, he'd be free. Thing is, he doesn't think he has ten minutes.

He's right.

He hears a girl's voice and a tinkling laugh. He could swear that he knows that laugh. But it can't be-

"Come in, Mary…" Shannon says, smiling sweetly. That smile hides the cold heart of a bitch-sadist - he's already got the marks to prove it - but as Mary walks into the room, he loses his train of thought completely.

Mary's wearing a short raincoat, which she's pulling open to reveal she's got nothing on beneath but a black lace bra and panties. He swallows and offers up a silent apology for everything he's been thinking about Shannon this past half hour.

"How did you..?" He begins, but they ignore him, Mary talking over him, almost as if he didn't matter.

"You already started without me…" Mary says with a pout, her eyes dancing with humour. She strokes his torso, idly, running one fingernail over the welts. He yelps, of course, and Shannon threatens to gag him.

Mary laughs lightly and kisses Shannon, a full-on plenty-of-tongue deep-throat-er. His dick jerks - the silk tenting around it. This is possibly the seventh most hottest thing he's ever seen.

Mary moans and Shannon sticks her little hands down Mary's panties, turning the other girl towards him so that he can see everything she's doing. He can see her fingers move and probe under the light, gossamer fabric and his ears are filled with Mary's gasps and moans.

Barney struggles a little in his bonds. They ignore him completely.

Bitches. They are _both_ bitches! Evil, vindictive, incredibly _hot_ bitches! He moans in frustration, his erection bobbing, clamouring for attention, but he gets none.

Then Shannon gets down on her knees and rips down Mary's panties with her teeth. He can see everything - the smear of moisture on Mary's thigh, the glint in Shannon's eye as she lines herself up between Mary's legs and pushes her friend against the wall.

"Oh, come ON!" He screams. He tries closing his eyes, tries to will himself to ejaculate. The irony isn't lost on him as he tries to visualise, tries to imagine all the times he's been inside a chick and he's had to talk himself down from the edge, to stop himself coming because she's not quite there yet. If he can only get himself into that zone… if he can only…

"Oh-g-christ!" Mary explodes, and his eyes snap open, forcing him to watch as Shannon's pink tongue ficks over Mary's clit, over and over, as the other woman writhes against the wall. It shakes him out of the zone and into another one entirely, and his balls ache and tighten as he watches Mary come, watches Shannon force a second orgasm out of her until the other girl slides down the wall, panting and trembling with exhaustion.

Then Shannon approaches the bed. He looks up at her, wide-eyed and pleading. "Come on… you can't leave me like-" he demands, but his words are cut off with a sharp, inhaled breath when her hand delves inside his shorts and she begins to jerk him off. He thrusts his hips insistently, gratefully, eyes rolling back as she finally takes him to the bitter edge and-

Nothing.

She lets him go.

When he realises what has happened, even as his mind claws helplessly at the edge of ecstasy, he screams out a flurry of expletives and curses only to find something shoved into his mouth.

Mary's lace panties.

He gulps, his nostrils filled with something rich and bitter and he finally realises he's not the one in control here. He's little more than a plaything to them.

But if Shannon so much as breathes on his dick right now he's going to come so hard that she'll be washing it out of her hair for a month.

She doesn't. So much as breathe on it, that is.

Instead she leaves him hanging (again) and she stretches out on the bed a couple of inches away from him. He tries to kick her but she tilts her head and gives him a quelling stare and then smiles.

"There's a lot worse I could do to you right now, Barney." Such a sweet smile. Why did he ever fall for that a second time?

"Mary!" He tries to plead with his friend, but he's got a mouthful of her underthings and it feels like he's drowning in her sex and he's kind of close to breaking right now. He gives her a hang-dog expression instead, hoping she'll take pity on him.

But Mary merely winks, the evil hussy, and pulls herself up from the floor so that she can lower herself on top of Shannon, pulling up her tshirt so that she can suckle on Shannon's boobs, so that she can play with her huge, ripe, momma's nipples with her clever tongue.

And all he can do is watch.

Which would be _fine_ if they'd just let him jerk off!

Jesus Christ, were they trying to kill him?

At one point, just when he's absolutely certain that he's going to expire for denied-orgasm, Mary's hand shoots out and she grabs his balls, pulling down his boxers and snapping the elastic waistband back against his erection. He screams against the gag, his eyes rolling back, and he curses them both, curses them, curses them to a burning, tearing hell for all eternity.

Tears roll down his cheeks when Mary does it again, Shannon looking up in delight at the new game that Mary seems to have invented. Cock-torture. Nice. That's real nice. Do they have any idea how that feels? The band biting into his sensitive skin, making his dick jump and leap and weep because they are _evil_…

He moans, writhing helplessly, kicking out because he's no longer in control. He catches Mary in the hip but she blithely moves out of reach, pulling Shannon to the edge of the bed so that she can continue eating up her boobies.

Barney pulls against the bonds, struggling with all his might, slowly wearing himself out until he sags back on to the bed, panting, the roaring in his ears almost blocking out the sounds of Shannon's moans of ecstasy.

Almost, but not quite.

Mary's going down on Shannon - returning the favour, so to speak, and he's left, flat on his back, his dick as hard as steel, and there's nothing he can do about it. He sobs.

Finally, when the girls have had their fun, Mary yawns and kisses Shannon on the cheek and winks at him as she gets into her raincoat. Shannon pulls the panties from his mouth and waves them at her questioningly.

"No thanks," Mary shakes her head. "I'm good…"

Barney shakes his head, swallowing spasmodically. His throat is sore, raw, he can barely make a sound. It feels like he's got strep. The bitches have given him strep! He gulps, like a fish out of water.

"Aw Barney…" Mary laughs. "Not even a goodbye? That's just rude…"

Then both women disappear.

His wrists hurt like hell and his biceps are cramping. He's cold and miserable and just wants to kick something. When Shannon comes into the room and straddles his lap, he lets out a groan of protest.

When she rolls a condom onto his dick he chokes out a plea.

But when she sinks down on top of him, trapping him inside her, tight, hot and wet, he cries out in wordless abandon.

She fucks him, all the time telling him that if he comes without her permission, she'll show him what true misery really is.

He does it anyway. Because Barney Stinson is nobody's lapdog.

And she punishes him for the rest of the night.


End file.
